


Dust in the Shadows

by Lord Nyoka (SilverofSouls)



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2556920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverofSouls/pseuds/Lord%20Nyoka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by V2E11. Weiss helps Blake discover new uses for her Semblance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I need to see Gambol Shroud.”

Blake recoiled at the request, hand automatically reaching to touch the blade at her back. Weiss hadn’t even looked up from her desk as she spoke, hunched over a forest of brightly-colored vials and cartridges of varying sizes. She had been like that all day, working on god-only-knows-what, combining carefully measured dust samples and referring to the cryptic scribbles in her many notebooks.

She turned to meet Blake’s eyes after the moment of tense silence had dragged on long enough to become awkward, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Blake?”

The faunus stood frozen in place. She felt the hands on her, pulling at the ribbons. She heard voices, mocking growls at her ear,  _what right does an animal have to carry around a weapon? Put that down, kitten, you might hurt yourself._ The whispers morphed into shouting, accompanied by pinpricks of black aimed at her heart.  _DROP YOUR WEAPON!_

The memories surfaced in an instant, there-and-gone as the Schnee Dust Company heiress asked for Gambol Shroud with all the emotional investment of someone musing about the weather.

“I don’t usually let people touch it,” was all she could manage as explanation.

Blake expected ridicule, or personal offense, or some assurance of competency accompanied by an eye roll. She was met instead with silence. Weiss’s face remained impassive as she considered her teammate, gears turning in her head before she broke the stare and reached beneath her desk. Her hand closed around Myrtenaster’s blade, extending the sword hilt-first.

The move surprised Blake, who stared at the weapon in the air between them for a long moment before closing her hand around the hilt and gently pulling it from Weiss’s grip. The steel was cold to the touch, an effect that was likely enhanced by the light-blue dust currently selected in the revolving chamber.

“Turn it,” Weiss instructed, watching carefully as Blake’s hesitant fingers moved to the mechanism, spinning the wheel until a soft ‘click’ sounded and the red dust chamber was centered. Heat ran the length of the blade, warming her fingers as the weapon responded to her touch. The faunus ran her fingers over the intricate guard, admiring the symbols etched into the steel.

“I have a few theories I’d like to test out,” Weiss continued, turning away from Blake’s silent exploration to lean back over her notebooks. “Have you ever loaded Gambol Shroud with dust vials?”

“No.” Blake raised her gaze from Myrtenaster, peeking over her teammate’s shoulder to inspect the notes in front of her. Most of the page was filled with Weiss’s neat scrawl, but what drew her attention immediately was the small sketch of Blake herself, frozen in the middle of a jump. Behind her was a softer, less-detailed copy of herself, surrounded with notes she couldn’t discern before Weiss’s hand moved to cover the drawing.

“You might want to try it,” she advised, free hand reaching for a metal cartridge half-loaded with vials. “The right combination with your Semblance could produce some interesting results.”

“Such as?”

Weiss flipped a few pages in her notebook, too quickly for Blake to examine the details of the other drawings as they flew by. “You described your Semblance as a sort of rushed, imperfect cloning process. You throw out energy when you activate it, and the process is so quick that the energy doesn’t have time to undergo any sort of transformation. So, it solidifies and immediately takes the image of its source: you.” Weiss looked up from her notebook, blue eyes betraying a trickle of self-consciousness. “If any of this sounds wrong, stop me. It’s a bit difficult for me to conceptualize. My own Semblance is typically very focused, centered on one specific point. Yours incorporates your entire body.”

Blake shook her head, turning her attention to the cartridge in Weiss’s hand. “No, you’re doing fine. Where do the dust vials come in?”

Weiss turned another page, revealing several more sketches of Blake, now shadowed by clones drawn with more substance. One copy was made of stone, making it look as if she had left a statue of herself in her wake. Another was bathed in flames, barely maintaining the outline of her body. A third had been highlighted with lines of light blue, a perfect ice sculpture. “I believe that, with a special dust cartridge, you would be able to focus this energy the instant you emit it. Instead of just a shadow of yourself, you would produce a clone infused with the properties of the dust vial in your cartridge.”

The images on the page stared up at Blake, filling her with a sense of wonder. She saw the logic in Weiss’s words, felt a thrill of excitement at the possibility of filling her shadows with substance. The detail of the sketches struck her as she examined the pages thoroughly. “You’ve been studying me.”

A slight blush crept up the sides of pale cheeks. Weiss’s concentration broke, and she faltered for just a moment before remembering herself and closing the notebook in front of her. “I…I study everyone,” she explained, “I have notes on Ruby and Yang’s Semblances, too. Yours just…gave me some ideas.”

Wordlessly, Blake slipped Gambol Shroud from her back and placed it on the table in front of Weiss, free hand instinctively gripping Myrtenaster tighter as she let the other weapon go. “Show me what you’re thinking.”

Weiss reached for the weapon, slipping it out of its sheath. She took a moment to examine the blade in its ninjato form, letting her fingers run over the length of it. Blake watched tensely, biting back the urge to guide the white-haired girl’s exploration. She saw the concentration etched onto her face, the little smirk of satisfaction when she heard the blade ‘click’ and fold into a pistol.

Her fingers found the magazine well, and she unloaded it, pulling out the old cartridge and angling the pistol up to peer down into the well. A full minute passed as she examined every detail. Blake fidgeted with Myrtenaster as she worked, turning the revolving chamber to feel the blade pulse. Finally, Weiss slipped in the cartridge she had previously loaded, smiling when it fit correctly the first time.

“In lieu of a selection mechanism, you’ll have to order the vials beforehand. I might be able to shape one for you, but for these first trial runs, just fire the trigger. Let the dust feed your aura in the instant before using your Semblance. The first vial is ice.”

Blake nodded and extended Myrtenaster. Weapons changed hands as Weiss stood up and turned to face her. Blake looked down at Gambol Shroud, her fingers wrapping around the grip. It was cold, colder than metal should be on its own, colder than she had ever felt it. Despite the difference, it seemed to pulse with an energy that hadn’t been present before.

“Do you feel it?” Weiss asked.

She nodded, curling her finger over the trigger and closing her eyes. She took a deep breath, grounding herself, letting the chill seep into her. It was not unlike the cold that seemed to permeate the air whenever she stood too close to Weiss while her Semblance was active, icy blasts rolling off of her in waves. Though she spoke of focus, Blake knew that she was not always quite so centered, having felt firsthand the temperature drops that could so quickly plunge a warm room into midwinter.

Still, this was different, drawn inwards, as if the force of a winter storm was building within her veins. It pulsed in time with her heartbeat as her eyes slid open to meet a crystal blue gaze watching her with determination. “When you’re ready, fire, and activate your Semblance immediately.”

Blake obeyed, training the gun at the wall, taking one final inhale. Just before she felt certain that she would freeze if she channeled the energy for a moment longer, she squeezed the trigger.

She moved to dart backwards the instant she fired, feeling all of the cold within her body rush to the surface as she created the clone. Ice crystals exploded from her skin as she moved, a sudden arctic blast filling the room and threatening to topple her as she stumbled, barely managing to land on her feet as a powerful shiver jolted through her spine. Her eyes squeezed shut to combat the onslaught of brain freeze as Gambol Shroud slipped from her stiff fingers and clattered to the floor.

“Blake!”

Weiss’s voice reached her ears, and she felt hands on her a moment later. The touches were warm, her first clue that something was wrong. She had never once touched the white-haired girl without taking note of the chill of her skin.

The hands receded as she shivered, replaced by a warm blanket draped over her shoulders. She opened her eyes to find Weiss staring at her with concern, resting a hand to her forehead and muttering apologies. “That was too concentrated, I should have started you off with a weaker mix…”

“It’s alright,” Blake whispered as the numbness began to fade from her limbs. “I’m fine, just need to warm back up.” Her eyes moved from Weiss to settle on the figure behind her. “Is…is that…?”

Weiss turned around, a smile threatening to surface as she took in the perfect ice sculpture that now occupied the room where Blake had been standing. “Deep freeze aside, you got it on the first try,” she said encouragingly, moving to examine the sculpture from all angles.

Blake followed her, pulling the blanket closer as she inspected the clone she had just created. Weiss was right – it was a perfect likeness of her, every detail looking as if it had been chiseled expertly onto the shimmering surface. Her face was a perfect mask of determination, lips parted just slightly with the breath she had taken before moving. Her arm extended towards the wall, where an icy replica of Gambol Shroud was still pointed.

“Wow,” was all she could say.

“It’s beautiful,” Weiss whispered. Her cheeks flushed pink again a moment later, and she seemed to return to herself as she moved away from the ice clone and grabbed one of her notebooks, scribbling furiously as she spoke. “That went remarkably well for a first trial. Some of the discomfort is likely just the fact that this is new to you, but I’ll work on the dust concentrations and we can run more tests later to figure out what works best.” The pen stilled in her hand for a moment. “Er…if you want to, that is.”

Blake couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s enthusiasm. “I’d love to. Thank you for doing this for me, Weiss.”

Weiss looked up, surprise evident on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but was suddenly cut off by the loud BANG of the door hitting the wall that never failed to announce Ruby’s entrance.

“We’re back from the mall!” their leader exclaimed, hurling a stack of magazines up onto her bed unceremoniously. A copy of  _Weapons Weekly_ slipped off the top of the jumbled pile and fell onto the floor, but Ruby’s wide-eyed stare had already been drawn elsewhere. “Whoooaaa what is  _that?_ ”

Yang poked her head in from behind, placing the huge stack of video games she was carrying onto the floor before following her sister’s gaze with a low whistle. “We leave for a few hours, and you feel the need to carve an ice statue of Blake?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “Jeez, ice queen, there are more traditional ways of telling someone that you’ve got the hots for them –”

“I didn’t carve an ice statue of Blake!” Weiss sputtered, pink face morphing to bright red, “It’s a dust-enhanced shadow clone. She made it herself.”

“With Weiss’s help,” Blake clarified, tossing an appreciative glance at her teammate and trying not to read into her partner’s words.

“Awww, but I want an ice sculpture of myself!” Ruby pouted, stepping closer to the ice and examining it with awe.

“Learn to clone yourself,” Weiss answered, burying herself in her notebook again and trying very hard not to meet Blake’s eyes as Ruby’s whining faded into background noise.

——-

Night found Blake curled up around her sheets, eyes wide in the darkness as she fought to fall asleep. Her gaze had been fixed firmly on the opposite side of the room, where Weiss was sleeping peacefully, her slow breaths audible to Blake even over the sound of Yang’s gravel-in-a-blender snoring.

She thought of the stack of notebooks on the desk, of the pages she had managed to sneak only glimpses of as she flipped through them. She felt utterly silly that a few sketches could cause her to lose sleep, but here she was, unable to stop thinking about the drawings. A few weeks ago, the scrutiny would have made her enormously uncomfortable, especially coming from Weiss. But the more she thought about it – the more she contemplated the deep blush that filled the girl’s pale cheeks with color – the less she seemed to mind.

Still, she couldn’t deny the burning need to know what was in those pages.

After hours of debating with herself, she finally gave in, tiptoeing from her bed in perfect silence as she approached Weiss’s desk. She picked out the notebook from earlier, bringing it into a shaft of moonlight. A single deep breath did very little to assuage the pang of guilt in her chest, but she brushed it aside, slowly cracking the book open.

The first pages were clearly Ruby’s domain, a few quick sketches of the girl scribbled in among detailed depictions of Crescent Rose in its various forms. Two full pages titled “speed calculation” were completely covered in numbers and formulas, many of which appeared to have been crossed out in ever-increasing states of frustration. Yang’s pages came next, bathed in sketches of fire, with tables recording number of hits taken and approximating the strength of hits returned.

Blake quickly found that she had more pages than both of the other two combined, filled with various drawings of her combat stances, usually accompanied by a lightly-drawn clone. Several pages seemed devoted to theories about the combination of different forms of dust with her Semblance, the newest of which described the events of the afternoon experiment in brusque shorthand. Another page was covered in drawings of Gambol Shroud in each form, and another with a depiction of Blake standing inside of what she recognized as one of Weiss’s time-slowing glyphs, quick pencil slashes representing a wild series of shockwaves coming from Gambol Shroud. Several more glyphs were depicted, some identified as having potential for future combination attacks. Blake was particularly intrigued by one section that mused on the possibility of shooting multiple clones into the air using a combination of time-slowing and repulsion glyphs. They’d have to test that one out sometime.

She reached the end of the used pages and nearly set the book down before realizing that the last page was gently wrinkled from use. She turned to it and held her hand to her mouth to stop the gasp that threatened to escape at the sketch on the page.

Blake was staring at a picture of herself in perfect detail, standing confidently with a gentle smile on her face, a small splash of gold for her eyes as the only color on the page. The biggest surprise wasn’t the amount of effort Weiss had clearly poured into the drawing, but rather the absence of the bow she was always very careful to wear in the presence of the heiress. Apparently, her teammate was able to draw from memory exceptionally well, as she had perfectly depicted her feline ears. Blake felt her heart skip a beat, and after quickly checking to confirm that Weiss had not in fact drawn exquisitely intricate drawings of her other teammates, she let the notebook fall to the desk with a soft ‘thud.’

She looked back at Weiss, still peacefully sleeping, a rare and gentle smile visible in the moonlight. She lost track of how long she stood there, knees threatening to buckle underneath her before she padded back to her bed and slipped under the covers, wondering what in the world she was to her teammate…and what her teammate was to her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but a lot of people were asking me to continue, so here it is! Please note the rating change from G to T. I may continue to change ratings/tags as I see fit.

Myrtenaster sailed through the air in a dance so intricately choreographed and familiar that Weiss could do it in her sleep. She saw every geometric pattern in stark clarity the instant before each was drawn with the blade. Wooden mannequins provided the only resistance, faceless heads making no noises of pain at the light, sharp touches of her sword.

Here was movement second nature enough to require minimal thought processes, and she became lost in the movements. Fighting mannequins made her feel almost perfect. Each calculated hit fell exactly where it should, the way they so rarely did when Myrtenaster went up against moving targets. But father had always instructed her to keep her technique as sharp as her sword.

_Step, thrust, block, right, left, step, thrust, block, turn-_

Weiss swung the rapier around, prepared to strike the mannequin behind her on its right shoulder in one sweeping cut. Halfway through the motion, her gaze registered flesh and clothing in place of wood. She twisted herself and released her blade during the last possible instant before impact, letting Myrtenaster clatter to the floor ten feet away as she collided with a lean, hard body that made no move to catch her.

“Blake!” the name fell half-strangled from Weiss’s lips. Her fingers tightened for a moment on the black fabric of her teammate’s vest as she struggled to catch her breath, heart racing wildly at the horrible thought of what she had nearly done. “You can’t sneak up on me like that!” she yelled, “I almost…I – ”

Any words she could have said died on her tongue as her gaze traveled north, trembling as she saw a bright slash of red open and spill down the skin of Blake’s neck.

“ _BLAKE!_ ” the name was now a scream that seemed to echo throughout her skull, but no answer came save for an impassive, unmoving stare affixed on some point in the distance.

 _No._ She had dropped Myrtenaster in time.

Hadn’t she?

Weiss’s hands twitched with the desire to bring them to her teammate’s neck, _anything_ to quell the flow, but she forced herself to stop halfway. Shaking hands poised in the air between them, she desperately searched for signs of life and found nothing but a wave of blind panic that threatened to bring her to the floor. “Blake, _please_!” The frantic note in her own voice startled her enough to abandon her misgivings and close the distance, fingers pressing against torn skin.

The moment she made contact, a burst of cold filled the space between them. The blood ceased immediately, hardening into a frozen mass of maroon, ice crystals spreading from her touch like ripples through a pond. She recoiled at the sight, but her fingers refused to budge, as if fused to Blake’s neck. Attempts to speak produced only deafening silence as the ice traveled faster, spreading across Blake’s skin and leaving translucent patches in its wake. When the process was complete a moment later, Weiss found her hands wrapped around the neck of an ice sculpture that had perfectly taken her teammate’s form.

She stood in silence for a moment, regarding the sculpture with a fervent hope that somehow the reverse would occur, that unmarred flesh would take the place of solid ice. When the first trickles of water began making the journey down Blake’s face, she used all of her energy to force her gaze upward, watching as the tips of feline ears began to disappear.

Weiss opened her mouth to scream, but the sound that instead fell from her lips took the form of a sharp whistle blast, shattering the illusion as her eyes opened quite suddenly to find the ceiling of her dorm room staring back at her.

“GOOOOOD MORNING, TEAM RWBY!” Ruby bellowed at the top of her lungs.

The frequency of the wake up ritual did nothing to warm the heiress to her partner’s enthusiasm, especially when her heart was galloping in her chest. Still, it made it much easier to ignore the intrusion, eyes passing over Ruby at her bedside as she turned past the vibrating girl to check Blake. The faunus rarely struggled to wake up in the mornings, and was typically up and moving before any of them. Now she lay twisted up in her sheets, hands folded over the crumpled bow that hid her ears. Worry mingled with relief as Weiss took note of the opacity of her skin.

 _Of course it was just a dream,_ she scolded herself, then opened her mouth to do the same to Ruby. “Stop with that infernal whistle!” Softer, she added, “Blake’s hearing is sensitive.”

“It’s not Ruby’s fault,” Blake grumbled at a volume that was just loud enough to hear. “I have a h-headache.” That’s when Weiss noticed she was visibly shaking, that even though her skin wasn’t ice it was still far too pale, and the dream nerves came rushing back as quickly as they’d departed, sending a shiver down the heiress’s spine.

Yang interjected before she could do or say anything, dropping down onto the floor beside her sister with a signature _CRASH._

“ _Yaaang!_ ” Ruby winced, “Blake _just_ said she had a headache!”

“Uh, I heard? That’s why I’m here to help. Nurse Yang is _all_ over this one.”

“Both of you. Stop talking.” Weiss clipped in a low, firm voice, climbing out of bed with her eyes trained across the room. “You’re shivering,” she pointed out with a frown.

“It’s j-just a little cold in here,” Blake offered weakly with a sniffle.

A wave of heat radiated from Yang’s general direction in response. “I’m glad someone else thinks so.”

“It’s _not_ cold,” the heiress insisted.

“And how would _you_ know, Ice Queen?” Yang countered, folding her arms in front of her chest.

 Weiss rolled her eyes. “It’s the same temperature it is every morning. But you look like you’re freezing.”

Ruby stepped forward between the two of them, gently resting a hand on Blake’s forehead. “No, she looks _sick_ ,” she corrected with concern.

Blake’s bow twitched in response, and she drew the covers in, trembling.

“What the hell did you do to her?” Yang raised the temperature further and took a few steps closer.

The question wasn’t meant to be terribly accusatory, but it still cut Weiss like Myrtenaster. “Her system isn’t used to the dust and…I might have used too much,” she confessed after a moment. “I’m so sorry, Blake.”

The faunus didn’t look at her, sinking lower into her blankets.

“Need a warm hug?” Yang offered, stepping forward with outstretched arms. Weiss felt a pang in her chest as she stepped aside, suddenly aware that her Semblance was beginning to compete with Yang’s for control of the room’s temperature. She willfully suppressed the effect, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself.

Blake gingerly sat up and moved to touch Yang. The instant their skin made contact, she recoiled with a low hiss that made the other three jump in surprise. “Warm!? How are you not _boiling_?” she exclaimed in horror, rubbing her shivering arms with her suddenly-heated hands.

“A little much, Yang,” Ruby advised.

“Sorry, sorry!” Yang said hastily, suppressing her Semblance as well. “Won’t try that again. But I’ll take the dive and skip Port’s class so Blakey won’t be left all alone,” she said in a voice that tried and utterly failed to sound morose about the situation. 

“Absolutely not,” Blake said firmly, sniffling. “I’m fine. Your grades aren’t.”

“Ouch, harsh!” Yang recoiled in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I paid attention for an entire three minutes last class.”

“I’ll stay with you.” Weiss didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud until three pairs of raised eyebrows turned to stare at her. Blake opened her mouth to speak, only to be silenced by a sudden hacking cough.

Ruby spoke instead. “You’ve never skipped, Weiss.”

“Which is exactly why I’m the most logical choice to stay behind and care for Blake,” she said matter-of-factly, ignoring the pointed look Yang was shooting her. “Besides, it’s my dust that made her sick. I’d like to observe the physical effects. If…that’s ok,” she added after a moment.

Blake closed her eyes, considering for a moment that felt longer than necessary. “Stay,” she finally allowed, and Weiss let out the breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“I mean, she’s the one that froze your face off, but sure, whatever,” Yang turned away to get dressed, failing to conceal her smirk as she did so.

“I’ll take notes for you,” Ruby offered.

Weiss almost laughed, but managed to resist the urge. “I’m a week ahead of the readings in that class. _I_ have notes for _you_ ,” she corrected, amused by her partner’s answering wide-eyed stare.

“OhmigodthankyousomuchWeiss!” the tiny team leader’s arms wrapped around her in a bone-crunching hug that bared every resemblance to Yang, minus the furnace effect. “I don’t know what I’d ever do without you!”

“Fail, most likely,” came the response as Weiss tolerated the embrace. She had come to accept the fact that no other member of her team was capable of even pretending to listen to the pompous huntsman, and that her diligence was the only thing keep the four of them in his class.  Part of her worried about skipping for just that reason, but even she had to admit it was time to take a break from Port.

The sisters finished getting ready as Weiss searched for her thermometer, trying to keep her thoughts from wandering back to the dream, but the guilt burned a hole in the pit of her stomach that quickly made her agitated. She had hurt her teammate; worse still, she’d dreamt of doing it again. Blake had been lingering at the edges of her dreams for weeks already, appearing closer at times but never speaking, never moving. Last night was the closest Blake had ever gotten, and she’d been stabbed for it.

Part of her wondered if she’d spent too many waking hours looking at Blake’s combat style, rather than her own; the other part wondered if she wasn’t spending _enough_ to not take into consideration the disparity in her and her teammates’ body temperatures before loading her weapon with ice dust. The conflicting concerns only made her feel worse about the situation. The faunus’s movements provided pages and pages of notes; she had simply written them down. What began as a simple way to learn more about her teammates had turned into complex theory and strategy. Yet despite how much she’d written on Blake, the courage to share more ideas hadn’t been forthcoming – especially as she turned to look at her shivering teammate.

“I can’t find my thermometer,” she said after rifling through every drawer she could think of, making a conscious effort to keep her voice from showing any hint of the turmoil in her head. “I’m going to go to the student center and pick one up and get a few things. Is there anything else that you need?”

Blake sniffled. “Some tissues would be nice.”

Weiss waited for a moment. “…Is that all?”

“Please don’t go crazy.”

The mild apprehension in her voice brought Weiss’s hands to her hips. “What in the world makes you say that?”

Blake regarded her with an expression that looked almost entertained. “I’ve seen you ‘pick up a few things’ before and walk out with half the store.”

The heiress couldn’t stop the scoff that fell from her lips. “That was _one_ time, and that boutique certainly was _not_ the student center,” she defended while changing into a white dress that she grabbed from a closet almost entirely full of near-identical garments.

“Sure,” Blake said dismissively, rolling over onto her side and pulling the covers up over her head as Weiss departed.

\---

“I told you not to go crazy,” Blake greeted when Weiss walked in the door carrying a full bag in each hand.

“I know. That’s why there are only two bags,” she retorted, setting both of them down on her desk and beginning to pull out the contents. “Chicken soup…a few cans, just in case…tuna, for later…fleece blanket, thermometer, nasal decongestants –”

“Does that box say ‘feline’ on the side?” Blake asked incredulously, and Weiss felt a stab of self-consciousness.

“Yes. Generic decongestants are based on human physiology. I read something about faunus having reactions since your noses are more sensitive.” She left out the part about the dozen searches she’d run on her scroll the moment the door had closed behind her, most of which were variations of ‘how to take care of a sick faunus.’

“I…wow. I didn’t know they made this. Thanks, Weiss,” Blake said after a moment of scrutinizing the box, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. “They had this at the student center?”

Weiss realized it would be harder to leave out the part about the specialty drugstore offering a few dozen varieties downtown that had forced her to call in a ride. “I went into town briefly. Can I take your temperature?” She held up the thermometer. “It’s a forehead reader,” she explained after noticing Blake’s look of confusion, demonstrating by waving the flat end in front of her own forehead at a distance.

Blake nodded, moving to sit up on the bed. Weiss took note of her bow, the ribbon disheveled enough to allow the tip of a black velvet ear to stick out. Keeping it on in her sickbed had to be a conscious decision, and Weiss almost commented before stopping herself. Blake’s feline ears were a rare sight to see, and she’d tried very hard not to take offense at the fact that the few glimpses she’d had were always during times when she hadn’t expected to run into Weiss. One-on-one training sessions with Yang seemed not to require hiding, nor did quiet studying with Ruby, but the heiress’s presence always meant that the bow would go back on.

She decided it would be best not to comment, resting a steadying hand on Blake’s shoulder that made the faunus tense in surprise. The motion startled Weiss, who withdrew, and Blake threw her a brief apologetic glance. “Sorry. Not used to your skin being warm. I’ve only ever noticed how cold you are.”

Something about the words didn’t sit well with Weiss, but she had to admit it was strange to feel a slight chill when her hand hesitantly returned. Blake’s slight tremble became a blessing for just a moment, as it meant that she wouldn’t detect the shaking in Weiss’s own hand as she pressed the thermometer to Blake’s forehead. 

She frowned at the screen when the blinking numbers settled. “Remind me what your baseline temperature is?” she asked after a moment, telling herself to write down the answer at her earliest convenience.

“Usually a little over 99,” came the response.

“That makes this 97 a little concerning,” she reported, reaching for the fleece and wrapping it around Blake’s shoulders. “I’m usually 97.5, for reference.”

Blake furrowed her brow, accepting the fleece with a soft thanks. “That’s…lower than human average.”

Weiss’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Genetics,” she offered, reaching back into the second bag for a roll of disinfectant wipes for the thermometer. “And years of training with dust. Ice is the element that feels most natural to me. It’s solid, but fragile, and usually a bit more forgiving. For your first trial, I didn’t want you crashing into a stone statue or burning yourself…but, I forgot to account for the fact that you’re two degrees warmer than me,” she admitted.

“I wasn’t this cold last night,” Blake pointed out, tone agitated as a particularly violent shiver traveled the length of her spine.

“It’s certainly possible that all the dust didn’t clear your system and the residual built up while you slept, decreasing your body temperature. Hot food should help,” Weiss offered, struggling with the pull-top on one of the cans of chicken soup before pulling a hot plate out of the second bag.

Blake opened the box of decongestants. “I didn’t sleep much.”  

 _Why?_ She wanted to ask, but stopped herself. “That probably isn’t helping.” The hot plate began to warm when she set the pot down on top of it.

“Neither is the fact that my body isn’t used to this yet.”

This time, she couldn’t refrain from commenting, pausing in the act of soup-stirring. “Yet? Do you still want to try using the vials?”

Blake fell silent, prompting Weiss’s eyes to meet hers. The answer seemed to require careful thought first. “Solid elemental clones provide too much versatility in combat for me to ignore, so yes, if that’s alright.”

Weiss felt a rush of relief before Blake added, “…but before that happens, I need to know why you pay so much more attention to me than you do to Ruby and Yang.”

The pot nearly fell off the hot plate. “I…I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Blake’s gaze was anything but friendly, and Weiss suddenly noticed the hilt of Gambol Shroud peeking from beneath the pillow that was currently at her back. She also realized that, until the piercing golden eyes had turned to look at her with what felt too much like accusation, Blake had barely made eye contact with her all morning. The effect of her steady gaze on the heiress was not unusual, and Weiss felt the familiar feeling of vulnerability surface.

How many times had she asked herself why those eyes made her feel as though she were standing unarmed and naked?

“The notes, Weiss,” Blake finally said, snapping her back to reality. She turned to look at the notebook on the desk beside the hot plate that contained most of what she’d learned about her team since arriving at Beacon.

“I’ve only ever fought on my own before,” she said after a moment. “I’ve never had a team. I study you, all of you, so that I can learn how to work with you.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Blake pointed out. “I know you have more written on me than you do on either of them.”

Weiss was about to open her mouth to deny it when the truth dawned on her. “You looked at my notes!” The thought made her feel exposed, but she disguised the emotion with annoyance, glaring at her teammate and folding her arms across her chest. “You could have _asked_ , you know.”

Guilt surfaced in Blake’s expression. “I…um, yes. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have done it if they weren’t about me,” feline ears folded back against her skull, further displacing the ribbon. One of the black ends slipped and dangled in her line of sight, and she started suddenly, hands flying to her skull to cover them.

Weiss politely glanced away, willing herself to stay calm. This particular notebook had never been intended to be private, at least not from her teammates. Yet something about Blake seeing the notes she’d written about her had made Weiss feel vulnerable. A few weeks ago, she might have attributed the reason to the faunus’s past, but the more time she spent with Blake, the less time she spent musing about the status of dead connections to the White Fang.

Metal scraped metal as she stirred the pot, the only sound to fill the room for a tense moment before her name was spoken again.

“Weiss?”

Slowly, she turned to find her teammate sitting up straight, back against the pillow, ribbon fully removed and sitting on the nightstand beside her. Vulnerability reflected in golden eyes, but Blake did not drop her gaze, even when a twitching ear betrayed her nervousness. “You must have some understanding of why I might not want thorough notes about me to exist…and why I might be particularly concerned about being studied by a Schnee Dust Company heiress.”

There it was again. Her last name, coming into the middle of every meaningful relationship she’d tried to build. Only this time, it wasn’t out of awe or envy; there was no mistaking the discomfort in Blake’s eyes for anything other than what it was. How strange it was to feel the name that had attracted every bumbling suitor she’d ever rejected repelling one of the few people she found herself actually wanting to be closer to.

Stiffly, she went back to the soup, and the sound of stirring returned for a moment while she considered how to respond.

“I’ve tried to devise strategies with Ruby and Yang, you know,” she finally said. “I’m sure you saw the pages of revisions for Ruby before I mostly gave up. I don’t understand her sometimes, honestly…she’ll spend hours planning out entire days of activities, but apparently the moment Crescent Rose is in her hand, she ‘has to just go with her gut.’ And I probably don’t have to tell you that Yang’s even worse.”

She stopped stirring, waiting for a response and continuing when none came. “When I watch you fight, you look like you’re doing the same. You act quickly and move effortlessly. And I don’t mean to imply that you need the help, but…when we were all first learning partner attacks, I noticed that sometimes you look like you’re thinking even harder than I am.”

“I’ve spent much of my life having to be careful who I fight with. And in hindsight I made some wrong decisions.” Blue eyes moved back to the bed, but Blake’s gaze was fixed on the wall beside her as she spoke. She had drawn the covers up around her as though she could use it as highly ineffective armor. “There’s a lot about me that you don’t know, Weiss.”

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know as well,” she responded, turning Blake’s attention back to her. “I wrote about you partly because I was surprised at how well we worked together, how quickly you adjusted to my time glyph – _dust,_ Ruby still can’t even utilize it properly.”

A smile threatened to break out across Blake’s lips for just a moment. “Ruby doesn’t like _anything_ that slows her down,” she pointed out.

“So I’ve noticed,” Weiss said with a tired sigh.

“If that’s part of the reason, what’s the rest?”

How many times had Weiss asked herself the same question? Her fingers gripped the notebook tightly as she picked it up, trying to disguise the fact that they were shaking as she let the pages fall open, scanning them quickly as they passed and making no attempt to conceal them. It seemed suddenly silly to her that she had done so before, until she made it through the thick of Blake’s notes and reached the empty sheets, closing the book suddenly when she remembered what was on the very last page.

The sketch of Blake had not been planned. She’d drawn it the week previously, after accidentally walking in on a partner training session and noting the absence of the black bow that found its way back to Blake’s ears a moment after noticing Weiss’s entrance. It hadn’t felt right to ask too many questions of the paper at the time. She had sat at a desk in the nearest empty classroom and referred to the picture of the four of them that Ruby had stuck to her binder as a reference. The hours-long process had been agonizing, every detail erased and re-drawn until the edges of the paper were stained with gray, but she had been unwilling to stop until she had perfectly captured the look of peace on Blake’s face in the photo – the first they’d ever taken of the four of them in which the faunus was standing next to her and still smiling.

“Because you and I have the most ground to cover, if we’re going to be out there watching each other’s backs.” Still, it was impossible – and probably unwise – to ignore Blake’s history. “But, if you don’t want the notes to exist, they don’t have to,” she said after a moment, setting the notebook on the bedside table unceremoniously.

There was the look again – the one that made Weiss feel completely exposed. She watched it fade, feline ears flattening as Blake broke eye contact. “I want to trust you. I really do. When I left the White Fang - when I came here - I knew it was going to be hard to accept working with humans. I had no idea I’d also have to accept working with a Schnee.”

Weiss’s first instinct was to take offense, but she stopped herself by pulling the soup off of the hot plate. “I had no idea I’d have to accept working with a former White Fang member,” she reminded after a moment. “But I like to tell myself that you’ve had plenty of chances to kidnap me and probably would have gotten it over with by now, if that was your intention.” It was a joke. Mostly.

The silence stretched on as she took a clean bowl from the bottom drawer of her desk and poured the soup into it, and she started to worry if the words had been in poor taste.

“I was going to do it today, but I guess it can wait until tomorrow,” Blake deadpanned as Weiss handed her the bowl. “You didn’t poison this, did you?” she asked as she accepted it.

“Why would I try to poison someone named ‘Belladonna’?” Weiss replied without missing a beat. “That just feels like fastest way to get killed.”

Blake looked surprised. “The wealthiest heiress in Remnant has street smarts?”

Weiss rolled her eyes. The wealthiest heiress in Remnant was actually her sister, but she _certainly_ wasn’t about to bring that up. “Please, that’s just common sense. You’d probably smell it, anyway.” The last sentence slipped out before she had a chance to think about it, and she moved to cover her mouth the moment she realized she’d spoken out loud. “I…uh, sorry,” she stammered weakly.

Blake stared at Weiss for a moment before finally breaking out into a gentle smile, flooding her with relief. “It’s alright. I actually probably would, now that the decongestant seems to be working. Thank you for that, by the way,” she added as she took a bite.

Weiss didn’t smile until turning away, pleased with herself. She’d never taken care of anyone who was sick before, and she knew full well that Blake wouldn’t be giving her compliments if they weren’t genuine. “Of course,” she said, trying to sound as though it had come naturally.

Evidently, she didn’t do a very good job. “How did you think of that?” Blake asked, setting her spoon down in for a moment. “When we first met, you want on a rant about how you couldn’t stand faunus. Now you’re going out of your way to take care of me.”

Embarrassment washed over her in a sudden rush as she recalled the tirade she had gone on before she had known the true identity of her teammate. “Every word came from my father’s mouth. I’m sorry. I’ve heard that my whole life and never had reason to question it before I came here...before I met you, and Velvet, and…Sun,” she added after a reluctant pause. “And if you’re one of the ‘degenerate low-lifes’ he warned me about, I have to wonder what else might be a lie.”

Blake snorted in amusement, then sniffled and took another bite of soup before an expression came over her face that was almost apologetic. “I have to remind myself that you’re not your father sometimes,” she confessed after a moment. “That you probably don’t control what goes on inside that company any more than I do. I just never dreamed of being helped by a Schnee. I’m sorry for pushing this. Truth be told, last night, I really didn’t mind the scrutiny much. I wouldn’t have brought this up if it wasn’t for the cold, and the nightmares.”

For a split second, Weiss imagined the thin line of crimson opening across Blake’s neck and struggled to swallow past the lump in her throat, taking with it the urge to inquire further. The last thing she wanted was to let any hint slip of the dream she herself could barely keep out of her thoughts. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is the soup helping?”

“A lot, actually. I don’t feel very cold anymore.”

“May I?” Weiss asked, stepping closer to the bed and reaching a hand to Blake’s forehead. The faunus nodded and held Weiss’s gaze as she brushed a few stray black locks out of the way before laying the back of her fingers against skin that felt warm to her once again.

“Much better,” she reported as she pulled away. “That was definitely just dust leaving your system. You should be just fine in the next hour or so, at this rate.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t pressured me to study while we’re skipping class,” Blake commented.

Weiss frowned at her. “It’s not _skipping_ if there’s a legitimate reason,” she defended. “And if you’re looking for something to do, I have plenty of notes for you to go over…” her eyes fell to the white notebook full of her team information as she spoke. “Oh. Speaking of which, you never told me what you wanted me to do with this,” she said as she held it up.

“Keep it,” Blake said with no hesitation. “I’d…just…prefer it to be someplace where no one else is likely to come across it.” Weiss knew better than to ask why.

“I’ll put it in my lockbox, in the top drawer of my desk. And if you ever want it, just ask,” she walked to her desk to put it away.

“Wait,” Blake stopped her. “I’d like to see it now. Unless you were planning on insisting that I read actual class material.”

Weiss looked down at the cover, running a hand over it once, as if the motion could dispel her nervousness. “Sure. Just…one moment, please.” She kept her back to Blake as she discreetly opened the book to the last page, fingers trailing over the image there before she began tearing it out as gently as possible to avoid ripping the edges. “I put something personal on one of these pages by accident,” she said by way of explanation, hoping Blake had missed the page as she tucked the drawing into the lock box and closed the drawer.

“Now…what would you like to see?”


End file.
